


I hate you too

by DapperMuffin, DearTheodosia (DapperMuffin)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Lafayette, Polyamorous Alexander Hamilton, Sickfic, i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27138985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DapperMuffin/pseuds/DapperMuffin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DapperMuffin/pseuds/DearTheodosia
Summary: Alex can't remember a time when his rival WASN'T his rival, and for good reason, too. That reason is... uh... Actually, as Alex and his rival grow closer, he has more and more trouble remembering that reason. In fact, maybe his rival is even a little... cute?
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	I hate you too

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaaaaa  
> sorry  
> um  
> welcome  
> enjoy
> 
> (the pacing on this is a little weird but it should be better going forward. i kind of deleted a section, so that explains the pacing, but im glad it doesn't feel too clunky)

Someone knocks on Peggy’s bedroom door, and she frowns. She wasn’t expecting any visitors today, and, as far as she knows, both of her sisters are otherwise occupied. She stands, making her way across the room.

No sooner does Peggy open the door than a distraught Alex throws himself at her, knocking her to the floor.

"Whoa," she laughs. "Hey, Lex." This has, of course, happened many times before, hence Peggy's lack of surprise or actual concern.

"Peggy, you need to help me," he groans into her shirt. He lifts his head to look at her, eyes big and pleading, and he pouts.

"Okay. Let me just get up." She wriggles out from under Alex, and he lets her go without too much of a fight. Once she's closed her door, she joins Alex on the floor. "So what's up?"

Alex pouts up at Peggy, and she stifles a laugh at how absolutely pitiful he seems. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, dude, you haven't told me what's wrong yet!" Peggy says.

"I'm in love," he mumbles into the carpet.

"What was that?"

He lifts his head. "I'm in love."

Peggy's eyes light up. "Really? With who?"

"First of all." Alex holds up one finger, his face displaying his absolute smartass attitude. "It's 'with _whom._ ' Second of all, it's not... it's not just one person." His face falls.

Peggy tilts her head. "What do you mean?"

Alex rests his chin on his arms. "There's this thing, it's called polyamory. It's the ability to love and/or date more than one person at once."

"Okay," Peggy says slowly. This is news to her, but she thinks she understands. "I think I get it."

"You don't have a problem with it?" Alex rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

"No, why would I?" Peggy frowns.

Alex shrugs. "Some people think it's cheating. It's not, it's consensual for all parties."

"It makes sense to me," Peggy says. "Who do you like, then?"

Alex sighs heavily, as though it takes a great amount of effort for the rise and fall of his chest. "John. And Eliza."

"Ah." Peggy nods. It was to be expected that Alex, a horny, bisexual boy in high school, would fall in love with one of the two sooner or later, judging by the sheer amount of time he spends with his two best friends compared to the time he spends with literally anyone else. "Of course. What are you going to do about this?"

"I don't know," Alex whines. "That's why I came to talk to you."

"What makes you think I'd know what to do?" Peggy asks. "I've never been in a relationship, let alone two, let alone two at once."

"Well, I couldn't go to John or Eliza, for _obvious_ reasons," Alex says. "I can't talk to Lafayette or Hercules, because you know as well as I that they'd be insufferable about this."

"That's true," Peggy says. "So... what do you want to do?"

"What... what do I _want_ to do?" Alex sits up, a perplexed expression on his face that tells Peggy that perhaps, in his state of confusion and whirlwind of emotions, he hadn't even stopped to consider what he _wanted_ to do about his little predicament. "Shit. What do I want to do?" he mumbles, more to himself than to her.

"Do you want to date John?" Peggy says.

"Yes," Alex says without a moment's hesitation, despite his conflicted expression.

"What about Eliza?"

"Yes." Same confidence.

"Hey, to me, that seems like the answer, but you should probably just think about it a little more if you’re still not sure," Peggy says. "Go with your feelings, follow your heart and all that crap. You wanna do something now?"

Alex perks up. "Like what?"

"Watch a movie? Binge another TV show?" she suggests, and Alex seems instantly brighter.

"Absolutely. Now what's on?"

* * *

"What do you know about polyamory?" Alex says one day, attempting to sound casual. He and John are hanging out at John's place, and Alex keeps remembering Peggy's advice to "go with his feelings."

John, draped lazily over Alex's lap, looks up at him with a face far too innocent (and yet Alex knows he's not faking it). "Not much. Tell me?"

"Well," Alex starts, trying to pretend that his breathing can stay steady in close proximity of John. "It's, uh, surprisingly common, actually, but... Polyamory is when you can love, and sometimes date, more than one person at a time."

"Huh." John contemplates for a moment. "Why did you bring it up?"

"It's possible that I might be polyamorous," Alex says, heart hammering. John's eyes twinkle, and the hint of a smirk flickers across his lips.

"Is that so?" he says, and if Alex didn't know better, he'd think John might be flirting, what with the croon in his words. "So there's someone, or _someones,_ you have your eye on?"

"That's not grammatically correct," Alex says, and John rolls his eyes, playfully shoving against his shoulder.

"Still! Don't nitpick my words. You like someone!" Alex's expression must give him away, because John grins. "Don't try to hide it, because I can tell. I'm your best friend. I think. Now, who is it?" Alex shakes his head. "Who are _they?"_

Alex hates this. He absolutely hates this. Why, oh, why, is John seemingly flirting with him? Despite what his common sense is telling him, all of the signs are pointing to John flirting. Does that mean John suspects Alex has a crush on him? Alex can't know for sure. Does John _want_ Alex to say he likes John, or would that ultimately lead to rejection?

"Eliza," he says finally. That's safe for him to say.

"That checks out." John shrugs. "Who doesn't have a crush on Eliza?"

Wait, what?

"Hold on," Alex says. "Do you like her?" John shrugs again, far too nonchalantly. "John, I'm not kidding, do you like her?"

"Yeah," John admits. "I mean, she's wonderful, right?" There's a soft smile and a fond look in his eyes, and Alex despises the pang of jealousy that the affectionate expression isn't because of him.

"She is." John doesn't seem to notice that anything is off, even once the conversation shifts away from Alex's love life. John, still sprawled across Alex's lap, reaches up several times to smooth back Alex's hair and to get something off his face and, once, to briefly caress his cheek. Throughout all this, Alex feels as though he's going to die, and John doesn't notice a thing.

* * *

"Polyamory?" Eliza says when Alex asks her. "Yeah, I know about polyamory!"

"Really?" Alex raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah!" She smiles. "I mean, as a bisexual polyamorous person, I'd _have_ to know."

"Me too!" Alex says, before he's even had time to consider whether or not this is a good idea.

Eliza's smile softens. "I've never met another polyamorous person."

"Well, there's me now, I guess," Alex says. He might as well commit to it at this point, and he's glad he did when Eliza takes his hands in hers.

"Yeah. There's you."

Alex is fucked. He's deeply, truly fucked.

* * *

That was last year. Alex is happily in a throuple with his two best friends, and if he sometimes has _dreams_ about a specific rival of his, well… nobody needs to know.

* * *

"Where's Jefferson?" Alex asks as he arrives to debate club, only to discover that his rival is missing.

Burr shrugs. "I haven't seen him recently. Try asking Madison." He points toward the other side of the room, and Alex, too distracted by the empty seat Jefferson usually took, notices that Madison is sitting in his usual spot next to the empty seat.

Madison never participates in debates himself, but he's allowed to sit in and watch Jefferson's debates, which is why it strikes Alex as particularly _odd_ that he's here and Jefferson isn't.

"Hey." Alex slams his hand down on Madison's desk, and Madison jumps. (He feels bad for that. A bit.) "Where's Jefferson?"

"Not here," Madison says. He sounds tired, more than usual. "He wasn't feeling well and went home early."

Alex frowns. "Why are you here, then?" Madison looks offended, and Alex hurries to clarify. "I mean, you usually only tag along to debate club with Jefferson, right?"

"Sometimes I do find it interesting to watch other people debate," Madison says. "I have my own free will. As joined at the hip as we may be, I don't have to do everything he does."

"You're right, I'm sorry," Alex says. Madison may be bristly around him, for reasons he doesn't understand, but he's never had a problem with James. "Do you know if he's sick?"

"Why, do you want to finish him off while he's weakened?" Madison says. Alex stares at him. "That was a joke."

"Oh." Alex laughs awkwardly. "Uh..."

"You couldn't tell. I get it." Madison faces the front of the room, and Alex takes this as a cue to leave. "Hamilton?" Madison says, and Alex turns around. "I think he just has a cold, but you know he's overdramatic."

Alex scoffs once Madison stops paying him attention, returning to the seat he usually occupies next to Burr. "Do I."

* * *

Alex isn't worried the next day when Jefferson isn't back, but by the third day, he starts to wonder if it's possible to die from being an asshole.

"Okay, I'll be right back," Alex says resolutely, interrupting whatever Lafayette was rambling about (he wasn't listening). He pushes himself to his feet, marching over to the table where Madison sits alone.

Madison glances up as Alex approaches, and he frowns. "Do you need something, Hamilton?"

"Come sit with us," Alex says.

"What?"

"You're over here by yourself. It's sad. Come sit with us."

Madison stares at Alex, unsure what to make of this. After a moment, he stands, and Alex waits for Madison to gather his things before leading him back to his table.

"Hi," Madison says awkwardly.

"Hi," Laf says. As the only one of Alex's friend group on good terms with Jefferson, it follows that they'd be the one to attempt to reach out to Madison first. "Hercules, scoot down. Make space. Okay, come sit here, James." They pat the new empty spot next to them, smiling encouragingly, and Madison hesitantly sits.

"Jefferson's still sick?" John asks. Jefferson is normally such a hardy person, and he usually bounces back quickly, so it comes as a surprise to everyone that he's still out sick.

James nods. "He's been ignoring my texts, and I haven't been able to visit him due to my immune system. I'm a little worried about him." John and Herc have the decency to at least fake concern, whereas Laf's appears genuine.

"I'd love to visit him, but I'm busy most of this week," Laf says. "Doesn't he live alone?" James nods.

Alex hates this.

"I'll visit him."

"Wait, what?" John turns to look at Alex, and he's not the only one.

"Look, as much as I despise his guts, I don't want anyone to have to be alone when they're sick." Alex can't take it back now, so he plows ahead, throwing out excuses that might sound plausible enough to discourage any further questions. "Besides, if something happens to him, who else would I argue with?"

"Are you sure?" James is clearly dubious about the idea.

"Sure," Alex says. "I don't have much to do today anyway. What's his address?"

"I'll text it to you," Laf says. They do so immediately, and Alex feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

"Cool. Thanks." Alex slumps over on the bench, and Burr shoots him a questioning look he promptly ignores. He doesn't speak much for the rest of lunch, or even the rest of the school day. If anyone asks, he claims he's tired, but deep down, he knows that's a lie.

Alex is worried. About _Jefferson._

Alex double-checks the address Laf had texted him, checking it against the address on the house in front of him, and he scoffs. Of _course_ Jefferson has a gigantic house all to himself. In the middle of New York. He's heard rumors of a mansion at Jefferson's home back in Virginia, but this is ridiculous.

He rings the doorbell. No response. Thank god. The door is locked, but Alex is prepared. He digs through his pencil pouch—he'd come straight from school and hadn't been able to drop his things off at home first—locating what he's looking for (a paperclip) with a moment of triumph.

Alex fiddles with the lock, and shortly the door opens when he tries the knob.

The house is oddly dark, and Alex frowns. He squints at the wall in the light from the open door, eventually slapping at it at random until he hits the lightswitch. The light flickers on, illuminating a large foyer. (Nobody even needs a foyer. It's just an unnecessary room! Why does Jefferson have such a big one?)

There's a couple of crusty soup bowls in the sink, and a pair of shoes by the door so well-kept they're undoubtedly Jefferson's, but other than that, the house seems empty. It doesn't sit right with him, and Alex shivers. It's cold.

Alex looks in every room in the house, but Jefferson is nowhere to be found. It's not until a noise comes from the living room that Alex notices the odd lump on the couch.

Alex considers poking him, but restrains himself—the guy is sick, and to poke him would just be cruel. Instead, he draws back the corner of the blanket to reveal Jefferson, curled up and shivering. His eyes are closed, and every so often, he makes a sound akin to a whimper. 

Alex places a hand on Jefferson's forehead. "Jesus Christ, you're burning up." Jefferson doesn't respond, and Alex isn't sure whether Jefferson can even hear him. He sighs, retreating to the kitchen. Jefferson doesn't have a single ice pack in his freezer—why not?—nor a single cube of ice, so Alex resorts to dampening a wash cloth with cool water.

Alex lays the wash cloth on Jefferson's forehead—he'd rather be doing anything else, he tells himself, even though it's a blatant lie—and Jefferson's whimpering subsides, to his relief. "What am I going to do with you?" he says, keeping a close watch on Jefferson to see if anything changes.

A few minutes pass, and Jefferson's eyes open slowly. He squints, as though his eyes are having trouble focusing, and Alex tenses.

"Hamilton?" Jefferson says, voice hoarser than Alex has ever heard it. He really _is_ sick.

"Hi," Alex says, cursing his awkwardness.

"What are you doing here?" Jefferson doesn't sound angry, which Alex can't understand. If Jefferson had broken into _his_ house when he was sick, he would have been furious. But instead, Jefferson merely sounds confused, which gives Alex all the more reason to pity him.

"James was worried about you," he says lamely, shrugging. "He said on Tuesday you probably just had a cold. What happened?"

"I thought I did," Jefferson says. He coughs quietly, and Alex shoves down the sudden worry that rises in him. Jefferson will be fine, it isn’t like before. “I was kind of lightheaded and disoriented on Tuesday, and I decided to come home. I remember lying down—” He startles, suddenly more awake. “Wait, on Tuesday? What day is it?”

“It’s Thursday,” Alex says.

“Shit.” Jefferson raises a hand to his head. “What’s this?”

“You have a fever, and I couldn’t find any ice packs,” Alex says. “So I got a wet wash cloth and I put it on your forehead. I hope that was fine.” He cringes. Why is he like this?

“Oh.” Jefferson blinks. “Why did you come to see me?”

“Well, obviously James’ immune system means he can’t come, and Lafayette was busy today and apparently every other day this week as well, and I couldn’t very well let you be sick alone—” He’s rambling. Oh, god, why is he rambling?

Jefferson—well, it can’t be, but… it looks like he smiles. The fever must be messing with Jefferson's head, yeah, that’s probably it. Because never in a million years would Thomas Jefferson _smile_ at Alexander Hamilton. Not like that.

Jefferson raises an eyebrow, and Alex realizes with abject horror that he’d said that aloud. “While I can’t deny that the fever is probably skewing my judgment, and I have to admit that I’ve never genuinely smiled at you before, why do you think I’d never smile at you?”

_Fuck._ Alex forces a smile, even though he knows it’s probably more of a grimace, ignoring the loud shrieking of his thoughts. “You’re my rival, we’re supposed to be enemies. I can’t be coming to your house when you’re sick to make you soup and put wash cloths on your forehead!”

“Mmm, soup,” Jefferson says dreamily.

“Are you even listening?” Alex says, only somewhat exasperated.

“I want soup,” Jefferson says, and Alex sighs. “Make me soup.”

“I suppose you want me to feed it to you too?” Alex says, half-joking, but the look in Jefferson’s eyes makes him recoil in horror. “Well, let’s get this over with then.”

He leaves Jefferson in the living room, opening kitchen drawers at random until he locates the soup cans. He picks one up, almost drops it, swears a few times, and reads the instructions on the side as though he hadn’t almost crushed his toes with a soup can, _again._

Alex waits the three minutes it takes for the soup to warm up. The second the microwave beeps, he pulls open the door so hard that it sort of bangs, and he winces.

“What was that?” Jefferson calls from the other room, and Alex grimaces.

“Nothing!” he calls back. He picks up the soup bowl, grabs a spoon and a napkin, and walks back into the living room to find Jefferson in the middle of a coughing fit. “Oh, shit.”

Alex sets down the bowl on the nearest surface and rushes to Jefferson’s side. Alex carefully helps him sit up, and gradually the coughing stops.

“Ow,” Jefferson says, and Alex hates how scratchy his voice sounds. "Fuck." That's so out of place that Alex can't help but laugh, and Jefferson looks at him as though Alex just killed his puppy.

"Sorry," Alex says. "That must've really hurt. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I guess." Jefferson rubs at his arm with one hand, and Alex is glad he's not the only one feeling awkward (although that may be a little selfish).

"That's good." Once he's sure Jefferson can sit up on his own—at least for a little while—he retrieves the bowl, bringing it over. "Still up for soup?"

"Can I have some water?"

"Of course," Alex says. He honestly doesn't know why he doesn't hate being Jefferson's little servant. Sure, the guy is sick, but Alex shouldn't have to tend to his every need!

...but he does. Because he's a decent person.

Jefferson leans on Alex as Alex helps him drink. He finishes the water in one go, and Alex is reminded that this must be the first thing Jefferson has eaten or drank in two days.

"Better?" he asks.

"Better," Jefferson says, and it hits Alex just how _tired_ he seems. “Can I have the soup now?”

“Yeah, of course.” Alex picks up the bowl from the coffee table, considers the spoon, hesitates, and, despite the part of his brain screaming at him, spoon-feeds Jefferson the soup.

This… isn’t so bad.

Jefferson finishes the soup within a few minutes, but he hasn’t moved much since Alex brought him the water, still leaning against Alex to prop himself up. His hair brushes Alex’s neck.

“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, right?” Alex teases.

“Nah, ‘course not,” Jefferson says.

“Better not,” Alex mumbles. Even so, a few minutes later, when Jefferson nods off, Alex lets him sleep. He needs it.

* * *

It’s getting dark outside when Alex wakes. He looks around, disoriented, and freezes. Jefferson is still asleep on his shoulder, and Alex himself must have gotten comfortable enough to fall asleep too. He doesn’t remember ever closing his eyes, but it’s been three hours, and there’s no other way that much time could have passed without his knowledge.

There isn’t a way Alex can leave without waking Jefferson, and he weighs his options. He can wriggle out from under the taller man, or he can just never move ever again. The second option seems incredibly appealing, but Alex has to get home before his family starts to worry.

Unfortunately, despite his extreme care and very, _very_ slow movements, Jefferson starts to stir, and Alex sighs.

“Did I fall asleep?” Jefferson says slowly. His eyes fall on Alex. “Hamilton, you’re still here? Did _you_ fall asleep?”

Alex’s hands fidget. “Maybe.”

Jefferson grins, delighted. “You did!” He frowns. “Wait, no, shit, we’re rivals.” He glares at Alex. “This never leaves this room.”

“Got it,” Alex swears. “I’m not going to tell anyone we, uh… that that happened.” He edges toward the door. “I’m just going to, uh, go home now. Think you’re gonna be up for school tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” Jefferson admits. “I’ll have to see how I feel in the morning. So. Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome,” Alex blurts, and with that, he’s at the door. He leaves without another word, and Jefferson stares at the empty soup bowl on the table.

“He didn’t even bother to wash the dishes,” Jefferson mutters, but a small smile plays across his lips.


End file.
